


Rivers

by Indybaggins



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-23
Updated: 2007-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/pseuds/Indybaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad wishes for things that will never be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rivers

 

 

The tv is playing, the voice of some soap-opera woman flooding the room, and of course she is crying torrents as she proclaims to an unknown male, “How many rivers have I had to cross in my life without you with me?” 

Brad would have at least vaguely smiled at her overly dramatic expression, if he hadn’t been lying on the bed, staring into a glass, the amber liquid inside churning into slight waves. And he gets lost on the metaphor, imagining wide, daunting rivers with slow, lazy currents and the sun reflecting diamonds on them, much like the flickering of the tv into his glass, throwing oddly shaped shadows over his hand. 

He imagines his hand, in a river just like that: touching pale skin, sunshine, maybe sneaking a kiss onto a shoulder that was never his to kiss, licking a drop off a collarbone. Maybe a reflection of light in brown eyes, a flicker of red, red lips and a haze of beauty and perfection, and he knows it would feel wrong, oh so wrong, he was never meant to have him, but he doesn’t want to give up on the fantasy, not yet.

So he’s staring at the bottom of a half-empty glass in a hotel room, and he can’t even be bothered to turn down the tv. The man is replying something now, in a heavy voice, and the tell-tale music of either romance or impending drama, slowly building to a conclusion, assaults his ears. 

When there’s a knock on the door he gets up, slowly. And he knows he’ll never ask, it’ll never be real, but he still feels a soft current of heat, a stream of words never said caught in his throat, when he opens the door and grins, “Colin!”

 

 

 

 


End file.
